


Secrets

by zetuslapetus



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, mentions of Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 23:35:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30113766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zetuslapetus/pseuds/zetuslapetus
Summary: Beth + Rio + a supply closet. (The closet is a metaphor for her heart, and the dirty mop inside is her ex-husband).
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 15
Kudos: 130





	Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> It's actually not that deep at all (gotcha), it is in fact just p0rn (unedited porn cause grammar is a social construct, I'm also super impatient and only here for a good time).

Beth’s no stranger to secrets. As a mom, a wife, a sister, secrets are weapons; little tools she’s polished over time with decades of experience. And right now, Beth’s dirtiest secret was nonchalantly wandering the showroom floor.

He’s strolling across the lot like a paying customer when she spots him. Hands in his pockets, one brow arched in curiosity when he passes the newest model they’d unloaded just that morning. He pauses in front of it, tilts his head to the side, and taps the edge of the plastic tub with the toe of his shoe.

Once, then again. 

He frowns in displeasure at whatever he sees, briefly and so slightly that anyone who hasn’t spent hours staring at his blank disposition would have missed it. 

She’s getting closer to him as he makes his way around the tub. Her legs move of their own accord, entirely disconnected from her brain that’s currently still processing the look on his face. 

Her heart pounds against her ribcage, lungs screaming for air. 

Dean is here, somewhere. In the back with a customer, she thinks. 

The hair at the back of her neck prickles to attention.

One more step, then another and she’s close enough to touch him.

“What are you doing here?” She hisses at his back and takes a deep breath, finally flooding her lungs with oxygen.

He turns, languidly, because that’s how he lives every moment of his life, apparently. 

He taps the spa again, completely ignoring her question, her flushed cheeks, and her heaving chest. 

“People really pay this much for a tub?” 

He frowns in faux disbelief, toying with her. 

She wants to scream. 

“Why are you here?” She shakes her head, eyes bulging with distress. 

“You ain’t pickin’ up.”

“I’m busy,” she waves to the floor, eyes still focused on him. 

“Yeah?”

“You cannot be here, Dean - “

“What I can’t be doin’ is waiting on you to pencil me in,” he says quietly with a step closer, invading her bubble.

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” She snaps back defiantly. 

It’s not the right move, she knows. 

There’s too much at stake at this moment. Dean could walk out onto the floor at any minute, Rio could blow her secret just for fun but she can’t help herself.

It feels good to taunt what little power she has over him. 

His lip curls into a smirk as his eyes drop, washing over her body. Mouth, collarbones, chest. Lower, until he’s staring at the Hawaiian print plastered across her body. 

She squirms under his gaze, cheeks warming, suddenly insecure and unsure of the dress. 

Two things happen simultaneously to shatter the moment. 

First, the office door behind her squeaks, indicating it’s been opened and that someone - Dean, no doubt, is about to walk out. 

Second, Rio’s eyes snap up, away from her chest and behind her shoulder. The soft lines around them crease and he smiles. 

She moves, with a shaky breath, her fingers wrap around his bicep and she quickly turns his body.

He lets her.

She pushes, with one hand still grasping his arm, and the other splayed across his broad back. He lets her maneuver him, body hard below her hands but pliable enough to move as she orders. 

She thinks she hears him laugh, husky and quiet. 

She forces him around the corner, down a short hallway until it’s just the two of them. 

When he faces her again he arches a brow at her.

_ Are you finished?  _

She’s still clutching onto him, fingers digging into the soft material of his shirt.

Just when she thinks it’s over, she’s safe, she hears Dean’s voice. 

She’d cornered herself, literally and figuratively because there’s nothing on this side of the lot; a single-stall, unisex bathroom and a supply closet full of bubble decor she’d finally convinced Dean to switch out for the Hawaiian theme. 

She pushes again, harder this time, expecting him to fight her on it.

He doesn’t. 

He also doesn’t realize that it’s a closet she’s shuffled him into until they’re inside and she’s closed the door, barricaded it with her body.

“Elizabeth,” he warns darkly, and not at all quietly. 

Her mouth parts, lips press together, then part again. Nothing comes out, just soft breaths.

She can’t look away from him, from the unnervingly blank gaze and dark eyes. She can’t move, the door at her back the only thing keeping her upright. 

She hates that she can’t tell if he’s mad, can’t tell if he’s going to force her out of his way and bust out of this tiny room. Make her face her secrets and lies, again. 

She hears voices outside, muted but close. Not loud enough to tell who.

His jaw clenches. 

Not happy. 

The voice gets louder, loud enough that she knows without a doubt it’s her husband. 

Rio steps closer and she stops breathing. 

“Don’t,” she whispers into the room.

She’ll beg if she has to. 

Their toes are touching when he takes the final step. Pristine, white sneakers kissing the tips of her pink, peep-toe sandals. His mouth parts and her stomach plummets. Behind her, footsteps echo against the tile floor. 

Something flashes across his face, and she does the only thing she can think of. She surges forwards, not very far because he’s right there, and locks their lips. 

Just when she thought it couldn’t get worse, he doesn’t respond. It feels like an eternity, long enough for whatever sense she’d momentarily lost to smack back into her body full force. She recoils, takes a sharp breath, and pulls away quickly. 

His mouth is wet, shiny in the shitty light of the closet, mocking her. She swallows, opens her mouth to say something,  _ anything _ . It’s enough time for him to register what’d happened because he finally reacts, and descends on her, mouth first. 

It startles her, and when the rest of his body connects with hers she feels the door at her back again. Her head bounces off of the wood and she cries against his mouth. Fingers slide into her hair until he’s holding her head upright, positioning her so he can lick into her mouth. 

Her arms wrap around his middle, fingers twisting in the cotton of his shirt. He’s solid beneath her touch, warm.

She lets her mouth drop, slides her tongue against his, and swallows his grunt. The other hand slides against the opposite side of her neck, sparking something so deep inside of her at being positioned how he needs her so he can devour her. 

Every inch of her burns, trapped in the best way, the solid door at her back, and his body at her front. She can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but take his mouth. He’s rough, mouth moving too quickly, like a punishment. He sucks on her lip too hard, working to leave a bruise. 

She’d tugged his shirt up, out of his pants - was it tucked in, she can’t remember, but she finds skin, finally. Warm, soft skin beneath the pads of her fingers, and she explores. She pulls, lets her fingers skim into the soft dip of his spine, delights in the way his obliques flutter against her forearms when he presses closer. 

He rolls his hips against hers, presses himself into her belly. When she digs her nails into muscle he pulls back, giving her a moment to suck air into her lungs before he suckles her bottom lip between his teeth. 

She wobbles slightly after an unsuccessful attempt to hitch her knee up his thigh. The dress is too long and too tight for her to maneuver in. He must notice because his hands finally depart lower, fingers touching everywhere until they settle at her hips. He tugs the material of the dress up, collects it easily between his fingers, revealing more and more skin until her legs are free.

She doesn’t know if he reaches for her first or if she moves but a large palm slides across her bare thigh and presses her against his hip. His fingers glide across warm skin, lower until he’s edging her panties. 

She should stop, climb off of him and get out but then his fingers sneak back and this time they slip beneath her panties. Barely, and just the tips of his fingers slip between her thighs. 

He pulls out of the kiss suddenly and her head lurches forwards without his mouth there to steady her. The noise that escapes his throat when he touches her makes her eyes roll into the back of her skull. 

She can’t look at him, not when he’s this close, not when she knows what she’ll see. Dark eyes and a wet, needy mouth. 

His nose skims the side of her cheek, mouth open against her jaw. Breath hot and wet. He doesn’t move for a moment, just stands, pressed against her and panting. She’s about to open her eyes, force herself to face him when his fingers slide all the way inside her panties. 

He grunts against her jaw when he finds her wet, slides his mouth to her neck, and sinks a finger inside of her at the same time. Her hand snaps to his wrist, but he doesn’t seem to mind or react because he just presses deeper, until he’s buried to the last knuckle. 

She’d forgotten what this felt like, the tension coiled so deep inside of her almost impossible to reach. He slides his finger out quickly and replaces it with two, ripping out a helpless, wet cry from her. 

He adjusts his grip, cups his hand around her sex, and finally curls his fingers inside. Softly at first, the other hand holding her hip, holding her in place - she realizes because she can’t stop shaking. Faster and faster, until all she can hear is his harsh breath in her ear and the wet sounds of his fingers between her legs.

If she comes it's over, and all she can think about is being full until she can’t take any more. 

With a shaky hand, eyes screwed shut, she edges the top of his jeans until she feels the belt buckle and pulls. She gets it out of the loop, accidentally touching him over the thick material of his jeans. It’s enough to throw him because he stumbles, arm shaking, and fingers slowing. 

She can’t get the stupid prong out of its punch hole, not with her eyes closed, no matter how hard she pulls. When she finally looks down at her hands, the sight of it all makes her belly twist. 

He’s got her pretty little dress hiked up to her waist, a hand still buried in her panties, the purple material unrecognizably stretched across his knuckles. The inside of her thigh is red and blotchy from rubbing against rough denim. 

She tugs at the belt once, then again until the prong finally slips free and the buckle falls open. He’s not moving his fingers anymore, not really. Just breathing into her neck, buried to the knuckles inside of her. The realization makes her too aware, makes her clench involuntarily around his digits. 

He groans, fingers twitching inside of her once before he’s pulling out and yanking her panties off. 

His jeans are easier than the belt, one button, then the zipper. 

Black boxers, as always.

He pulls back and out of her neck, mouth wide open, panting. She can’t look away now that she’s opened her eyes, from his mouth or the peek of tongue she can see nestled against white teeth. He doesn’t tear his eyes from her hands as she undresses him.

It’s quick then when she finally pushes his boxers down. He steps forwards, makes a space between her legs, and pushes inside. Fucking her with a cock she didn’t even get to see or touch.

_ No condom, _ she echoes in the back of her mind.  _ Again _ . 

It’s slow, inch by throbbing inch. She’s wet enough, soft enough, and after a long moment finally stretched around him completely.

He pushes at the dress, hikes it up her belly and out of the way so he can see because he hasn’t looked up, eyes still plastered to where they’re joined. 

She’s only got one foot on the ground, and when he hikes the other leg up her new sandal slips off, the noise of it slapping the tile floor echoing around them. After a few deep breaths, he moves, grips her thigh, and pulls out. 

The first thrust knocks the wind out of her, pushes her up the door until she can barely feel the floor with her toes. He doesn’t give her a chance to recover before he’s slipping out again, leaving only the head buried inside of her. 

He holds her there for a moment too long, leaves her stretched around him for what feels like an eternity, waiting, then he’s adjusting the grip on her thigh again and pushing forwards. 

Again and again, bowed over her, foreheads almost touching. There’s nothing to hold onto but him, so she clutches onto the arms holding her in place. 

His hips roll against her, slowing after a moment of frenzy, like he’s catching himself, making it last. Lazy, almost, like he’s got all the time in the world. Like they’re not in a closet with a dozen people on the other side of the wall, one of them being her husband.

She won’t come like this, not with him playing with her. She slips a hand between their bodies, gets her fingers around her clit, and even strokes herself twice before he catches her wrist and pulls her hand off of herself. 

He slaps her arm against the door and holds her there, hand trapped beneath his own. She wants to curse at him but then he straightens his bowed back, drives her further up the door, and deeper on his cock. She can’t feel the ground anymore. 

“That’s not what you wanted,” his voice is deceptively calm for how hard he’s driving into her. The only tell is the hitch in his throat when he speaks again, mouth skimming her jaw. “Tell me what you want.”

It’s too much, and too deep, the pressure of his cock sliding in and out torture. His hips slow again, but no less rough. Every thrust pulls a quiet whine from the back of her throat. 

“Who’s fucking you?” He grunts against her skin.

The words burn her, and she inhales sharply against the fire deep in her belly. 

“Please,” she whines, eyes squeezed shut. She doesn’t know what she’s begging for, more of what he’s doing or for the words to stop. 

“No one makes you come as hard, tell me -”

Her hand shakes, fingers flexing against his grip until his palm finds her own. Her fingers slip between his and she digs her short nails into the back of his hand. 

His hips shift, pressing her against the door, lodged so deep inside of her that she can’t move - can’t fuck him back. She arches her back off the door, rubs herself against him, shakes a little at the pressure against her clit. 

It goes on forever, the quick short thrusts, heavy breaths in the too-quiet room. He doesn’t speak again.

It’s the feeling of him pulsing inside of her that pushes her over the edge. It builds and builds until she’s gasping, and coming with a shuddering jerk. She spasms around him, belly clenching so hard she folds in half. 

He presses deeper, rides her orgasm until she stops shaking. He comes quickly, buried deep and spilling warmth inside of her. His grunts are soft, muffled by her skin. He takes too long to put her down, to pull out of her. She feels panic bubble in her chest by the time her feet finally touch the ground. 

She finds her abandoned shoe and quickly crosses her legs the moment he steps away from her. The feeling of his cum dripping out of her makes her insides shake. 

He tucks himself away, cock still wet, slowly softening. He palms himself over his boxers before he pulls his jeans up and for some reason that snaps her out of her daze. She turns on her toes to face the door, ready to run. 

She gets the door open half an inch before his arm slides around her. With a palm flat against the door, he pushes it shut, the force of it pulling the handle from her grasp. He doesn’t touch her but she feels his breath against her hair when he speaks.

“Midnight. Tomorrow.”

That’s all he’d wanted, she squeezes her eyes shut and nods once. He’d changed the meet date and place without asking her and she’d missed the drop on purpose, to spite him.

Then she’d ignored his calls to show him she could. 

_ Stupid _ . 

She takes a deep breath and when he doesn’t move she speaks.

“Fine.”

His arm disappears, she rips the door open and doesn’t look back. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts on Rio talking during sex? They write him as a stoic .. but a river runs deep, and he's (obvi) in love with Beth ... so I am kinda into the idea of him being vulnerable w his feelings during sex.


End file.
